


The Little Things

by smallbeans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, But not on purpose, Caring Derek, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Nightmares, POV Derek, Panic Attacks, Post-Nogitsune, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Scott is a Bad Friend, Season 3a, kind of, season 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:47:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: 5 times Derek notices things about Stiles that he never has noticed before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is but it's inspired by a prompt I found on Pinterest :)
> 
> I was also in need of some serious sterek fluff and caring Derek so this is the outcome! (this was rushed and written at fuck-knows what time in the early hours of the morning, so sorry if it's badly written - I was desperate.)
> 
> Listen to the song: A.M by Richard Walters when reading the lower parts, it hits the feels harder.
> 
> Enjoy!<3

**1\. The tiny specs of colour in their eyes.**  

For a moment, Derek was floating. He was weightless, mind adrift. And then suddenly, it was like he was dropped into a pool of cold water and he was being thrown into consciousness. 

His eyes snapped open, breath leaving his lungs. He barely caught the fist swinging towards his face, the small, cold knuckles swarmed in his own collaused palm with a painful slap of skin against skin. He looked above him, eyes leaving the two hands, and found Stiles staring down at him. It was just as much of a shock waking up as it was seeing cold, stomach dropping fear glistening in Stiles' eyes. His face was illuminated green, shadowed from the prominent cheekbones and ridiculously long eyelashes. The lights around them were flickering on and off, making Derek's sense of his surroundings even more off. 

He looked around, dazed and confused because  _what the actual fuck?_  He couldn't figure out what was going on. What happened and why was Stiles staring at him like he's dropped from the fucking sky?

Suddenly, it all came rushing back like a tidal wave.

"Where is she?" He shakily asked after he glanced out of the elevator he was laying in, looking at the dimmed and abandoned hospital ward.

"Jennifer?" Stiles croaked above him, voice raspy like he'd been crying. His eyes didn't look red, but Derek did find himself unable to take his eyes off them - doe and big. "Gone— with Scott's mum."

Derek felt his stomach twist uneasily, guilt swarming his gut. "She took her?"

"Yeah," Stiles nodded. "And if that's not enough of a kick to the balls, Scott left with Deucalion. Okay? So, we gotta get you out of here—" he could hear the teenagers breathing picking up, noting the anxious way he was sparing nervous glances down the end of the hall. His wrist was still in Derek's hand, shaking. "The police are coming right now, and we gotta get you the hell out-ta here—"

"Woah," Derek cut him off, sitting up and ignoring the scream from his muscles.  He felt so impossibly drained. "What about Cora?"

"She's fine," Stiles replied, quick and high. "She's with Peter and Isaac. Look, we gotta go, okay? Can you stand? Did she break anything or—"

"I'm fine," Derek answered shortly. He wasn't fine, but he wasn't broken or physically injured. Maybe mind-fucked and internally scarred by the fact that he was sleeping with a goddamn Darach who while she wasn't  _in his bed_ ,was actually out killing people for sacrifices. He was more worried about Cora at the moment, but Jennifer was large play in his mind - especially now she has Stiles' dad  _and_  Scott's mum. 

"Okay, good," Stiles nodded and he didn't waste another moment before he was grabbing Derek by the shoulders and pulling - non helpfully - Derek to his feet. He stumbled when he was vertical, blood rushing to his head like he'd been hanging upside down instead of laying on the floor. "Woah—" Stiles rushed to his close side, hands everywhere and eyes tracking him. "You okay, big guy?"

 _Not by a long shot_ , Derek wanted to say. "I'm fine," he gruffed instead. It was obvious Stiles didn't believe him, his brown eyes unconvinced and shining evident disbelief, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he nodded, breathing shakily. They were at eye level, eyes directly looking into one another and if it was under different circumstances, Derek would have taken the time to admire the fire behind the teens eyes, or the way lighter shades of brown sparkled along side the dark, glowing whiskey. But right now, the circumstances were shit, and they needed to get out.

"Let's go," Derek said, and neither of them wasted another moment before they turned and ran.

-

**2\. How someone looks when they think nobody can see them.**

Everything was better now. Cora was cured and currently out of town. She'd left only two days after she was well enough to stand, calming telling Derek she couldn't stay because everything here reminded her of pain and misery. Derek couldn't disagree with her, or make her stay. But he also declined her offer to go with him, knowing he needed to stay with his pack and some Hale member had to stay here. But things were better. The sheriff, Melissa and Chris were rescued and safe. Scott, Allison and Stiles got their parents back. The sacrifices worked, or, at least that's what Derek was told.

He didn't believe they worked, didnt believe everything was alright. The sacrifices gave them the location of their parents, but it's physically and mentally scarred them for life. The darkness around their hearts, as Deaton explained, was perminant. It was a scar, ugly and unremovable. Derek had no idea what it felt like, but he imagined it was like a hole in your chest, a big black void of nothing, just gaping like a bloodless bullet wound. He assumed it felt like grief, consuming and a consistent ache or feeling.

Derek couldn't imagine what it actually felt like, pooling in his chest continuously.

The pack meeting came to a stuttering end about half an hour before the members began to leave. Lydia and Allison went first, claiming they needed shopping as Lydia was sure it was the only way to properly cheer Allison up. Derek could see the frustration in Allison's form, the aftermath of the sacrifice turning her paranoid, saying she can keep seeing the ghost of her dead aunt.

"Hey, Scott," Stiles said, catching the doe-eyed true alpha. They were standing in the middle of the loft, Scott having just began to make his way to the loft door. He turned around on Stiles' call and waited for him to continue. "Are you still free today? I was wondering if we could hang out, I need to tell you—"

"Sorry, buddy," Scott cut him off, and the drop in Stiles' hopeful expression told Derek the younger teen knew he was being ditched. "I was gonna hang out with Kira, do some history notes together," Scott looked at Kira over his shoulder, the small girl sending him a sweet wave when she noticed him looking. Scott, like a lovesick middle-schooler, waved back with doe eyes. He turned back to Stiles, talking in a low voice so no one could hear, stupidly forgetting he's surrounded by werewolves with enhanced hearing, "she's finally noticing me, Stiles. I know you wanted to hang out, and we will — I promise! But, I really like her, like, like her. I haven't felt like this about anyone since. . ." He trailed off and the small 'Allison' didn't go unheard.

Stiles shook his head, lips pulling up into a smile that was so painfully forced. "It's fine. Totally cool. You go, write notes and woo her with your puppy eyes. I can talk to you another time."

Scott grinned. "Thank you!" He clapped a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "You're the best, Stiles. I promise we'll hang out tomorrow, okay?"

Stiles nodded, muttering, "Okay. Sure."

But Scott was already turning away, going to Kira and it took all of Derek's willpower not to grab Scott by the collar and drag him to Stiles' feet and force him to apologise to his best friend that so obviously needs him.

The second Scott was out the door, it was like Stiles was physically punched. Derek watched his face morph into a mixture of pain, anxiety and hurt. He wrapped his arms around his middle, cuddling himself as if it would give him some source of comfort. Derek could tell his eyes were trained on the floor, despite standing behind him. The angle of his head was down and bowed, and Derek officially declared Scott the biggest oblivious idiot in the pack. How could he not see? How could he not see the obvious signs of his best friends suffering? Derek has watched Stiles turn up to meeting after meeting since the sacrifices, watching his skin get paler and tighter from exhaustion. The purple half moons under his eyes becoming horrifically prominant, standing out against the white of his complexion. His hair was hazardous, sprawled in every direction like it's been pulled with stress.

Stiles was suffering, and Derek could see him suffering in silence.

Derek didn't know if Stiles realised he was there, especially considering it was his loft, but Stiles seemed to be in his own head. He seemed unconscious that Derek was standing behind him, watching and observing the way he's curling in on himself like a wounded child. The way waves of misery and hurt are rolling off him and smacking Derek like a physically tsunami. Realisation dawned on him that Stiles wasn't okay, and that everything wasn't better now just because no one was in immediate danger.

Derek moved, the floor beneath his feet moaning and Stiles spun around so fast Derek was surprised he managed to stay standing. Stiles' eyes were wide, swimming with surprise and also a hint of embarrassment, which had Derek almost frowning because, why?

"Are you okay?"

Stiles nodded, and suddenly, it was like a masked was slipped on. His face became neutral, emotionless and all the pain shining through the exhausted whiskey eyes was covered like a shield. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Derek nodded back. He didn't have another chance to speak to Stiles, for the brunette teenager was grabbing his bag by the strap and darting out of the loft like a streak of light.

-

**3\. Real meanings behind spoken words.**  

Derek didn't know how it had come to this. He didn't know what he did to deserve this, but through out his entire life, he's never been so terrified. Even when he watched his family burn, or spent years hiding away in New York, grieving with Laura, or when he came back to this god-forsaken town to find his older sister dead at the hands of his psychopathic uncle. He has never felt as truly scared as he is now.

He was standing in Deaton's veterinary. It was cold, the chill from outside seeping into the dark room. Scott was leaning against a metal table, hand on his recently healed stomach. There was a large blood patch on his t-shirt, the wet, sodden fabric ruined by the gaping hole in the middle. He looked close to tears, and that wasn't because he was stabbed and basically had death flash in front of his eyes. No, Derek knows he's close to tears because of the teenager laying on the table opposite him. 

Stiles had been unconscious when Derek ran in from the rain. The teen then, however, had been laying on his side on the cold floor, Deaton standing above him with a needle in his hand like a mad scientist out of a horror movie. 

At first, Derek had demanded answers. He wanted to know what the fuck was going on and how the hell Scott, the  _true alpha_ , had managed to get stabbed by his hyperactive human best friend. Except once Derek had lifted Stiles onto the table, his body disturbingly lax in his arms, Deaton had then explained that Stiles was not only Stiles, but actually possessed by a thousand year old Japanese spirit.

It had been quite a shock. Sure, Derek had his suspicions, but no one had confirmed it to him and to hear  _Deaton_  tell him, when Stiles was drugged to unconsciousness and Scott was recovering from a stab wound to the stomach, it made Derek want to throw up.

After ten minutes of eery silence, Derek asked the only question he was sure he could voice without vomiting. "What do we do?"

His voice broke the quiet like a sledgehammer on a sheet of glass; shattering it. Scott physically flinched when he did, and for the first time in a long time, Derek saw the vulnerability in the True Alpha. 

"The wolf lichen should knock him out for a while, and when he comes around he should be in control of himself," Deaton answered.

Derek looked at him. "And what happens if Stiles isn't in control when he wakes up?"

"We'll deal with that if and when it happens. For now, we need to assume the wolf lichen will work and the fox will be effected."

"Is it going to hurt him?" Scott asked, his eyes still locked on Stiles' form. When no one answered, he looked up and directly at Deaton. "Is the wolf lichen going to hurt Stiles?"

"No," Deaton said. "It won't harm his human side, only the fox inside him."

"Then why is he still passed out?" Scott shouted, a growl itching into his tone.

Deaton seemed unfazed, as usual. "Because the wolf lichen will act as a sedative until the fox is weak enough for Stiles to take control again. He'll be fine, Scott." His last words sounded flimsy but it was the best they had.

"Okay, so assuming Stiles is in control, what should we do? The wolf lichen isn't permeant, and if the fox is as powerful as you said it was, then it isn't just going to sit back and let Stiles have his life back again," Derek said, and once the words left his mouth, he felt like he was going to be sick again.

He looked at Stiles, and instantly he regretted it. The teenager was still passed out, lax and limp on the table. His head was turned to the side, face in their direction. His skin was white, eyes bruised and purple. His lips were cracked, colourless like the rest of his complexion. His hair was stuck to his forehead in wet curls like seaweed washed up on a pale shore. It was scary, to see Stiles so still. In all the years Derek had known him, Stiles was a constant flurry of movement and colour but now, he was like a grey form of stationary misery.

"How can we help him?" Derek asked. "How do we stop whats inside him?"

Deaton shook his head. "I don't know enough," he said.

"Well learn something!" Derek snapped. "We need to help him."

"I know," Deaton said, and it almost sounded like a sigh. 

"We need to get it out," Scott murmured. "We need to get that  _thing_  out of him."

Deaton nodded. "I'll see if I know any contacts who might be able to help. I recommend speaking to Chris, he might know more about this than me."

"I'll do it," Derek said, knowing Scott wasn't up for anything else tonight. "You should go home, Scott. Get some rest-"

Scott's head snapped up at the mention of his name. "W-What? No! I can't— you don't. . . I need to help—"

"Scott, you had a sword pushed through your stomach. You need to rest and heal—"

Scott pushed off the table. "I've healed! I—"

" _Scott_ ," Derek said, voice rumbling. If he was an alpha still, he knew he would have flashed his red eyes, but he didn't bother now. "Go home, we'll phone you if anything changes," he added, "I promise."

Scott looked like he was going to protest, but then he must have come to his senses and realised he needed to go home.

"Call Kira when you go," Deaton said. "Make sure she's okay."

Derek doesn't know who Kira is or what happened to her, and if he was honest with himself then he didn't want to know. The only thought that connected in his mind was if Stiles had hurt her? If the thing inside his head had hurt someone?

Derek cut out of his thoughts when Scott began to head towards the door, looking over his shoulder ever three seconds, eyes on his best friend as if walking out the door without him is like he's saying good bye. The door shut behind him with a deafening silence. 

"Take me to Eichen," 

Derek spun on his heel as fast as light, ears ringing with the croaking voice.

Stiles was awake, eyes open and shining through the whiskey orbs was such raw fear that Derek could literally taste it on his tongue. He hadn't even realised Stiles was awake, and now he listened, he could hear the racing beats of his heart.

"What?" Derek asked, brain not fully processing Stiles' words.

"Take me to Eichen House. I can't be around you guys—"

"No way in hell are you going there," Derek said adamantly.

"Derek—"

"Stiles, Derek is right. I don't think—"

"I have to. I heard what you said about the wolf lichen, and I know it isn't going to hold forever. You can't just let me roam the streets. I might—  _it_  might hurt someone. Please, I need to do this."

Derek sighed. His chest was aching. "Stiles, Eichen isn't safe,"

"It doesn't matter. If I'm in there, so is the damn thing possessing me. Everyone will be safe, and it will give you guys more time to figure something out."

"We're going to kill it, Stiles," Derek said, voice more solid than it had been all night. He was confident that Stiles was going to get out of this alive, and no way in hell was Derek going to let the brave, stupid, idiotic spaz go down this way after everything he's been through. "You're going to be okay."

"You can't," Stiles whispered. His voice cracked, croaking when he spoke.

"Stiles, we can and we will," Derek snarled.

"How?" Stiles asked, and then Derek noticed the glistening in his eyes and the salty tang to the air. "How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?"

The words hit Derek so hard he had to take a physical step back. He didn't know exactly what Stiles was implying, but the words were cold and sharp.

 _Monster_.

Was Stiles implying that Derek was a monster? Or that Stiles himself is a monster? The questions flew back and forth like a boomerang, spinning inside his head. 

"Stiles," Derek began, but prominently cut himself off. What the fuck was he meant to say to that?

" _Please_ ," Stiles begged, sounding so small and hurt it physically wounded Derek like a punch to the chest.

Derek sighed. He looked to Deaton, who met his eyes with a familiar gaze. Derek looked back to Stiles, who was staring at him with a hopeful and desperate look that could have made the newly made beta crumble, even in alpha form.

"Call your father," Derek said. "You need his consent first."

-

4 **. Emotions they are trying to hide.**

When Derek next saw Stiles, it was a week after the Nogitsune was diminished and two friends were buried in the ground. The remaining pack were damaged, the entire pack and its balance fractured, possibly beyond repair. 

Scott was heart broken, internally destroyed from having his first love die in his arms. Derek could relate, horribly, and he knew that kind of pain didn't just go away with a few good nights sleep and a lot of hugs. It was scarring, deep and un-healable. 

Lydia was just as distraught, though her's was less visible. She had been the one to plan the meeting at Derek's loft, insisting they needed to get back to some sort of normalcy. She'd turned up the following day, Kira at her side, saying the pack meeting was happening and everyone was going to be there.

At first, Derek didn't believe her or the idea that everyone would come. Grieving was hard, and for most people, it was actually easier to do alone. Or at least, that's what people believed when they were grieving. It was like dark cloud hanging over you, and your constant worry was getting  everyone caught in your own storm. Derek knew what it was like to hide away in grief, he'd done it twice before and he was sure as hell not going to criticise the pack for doing it themselves. The only member of the pack Derek had actively seen was Isaac, and that was only because he'd moved back in with him. He didn't comment, the first night Isaac turned up at the lofts door with a duffel bag and red eyes, he only opened the door wider and offered his bed, knowing the beta needed it.

Scott and Isaac arrived together, looking hunched and sad. They barely said a hello to everyone before dropping down on the sofa.

Stiles was the last to arrive, and when he did walk through the door, Derek could have cried. Stiles was the definition of mentally broken. His physical appearance was haunting, from his translucent skin and exhausted eyes to his sluggish movements and sharp cheekbones. He walked with hunched shoulders, like he was carrying the weight of the world on the producing bones. Lydia approached him as he crossed the loft and immediately pulled him into a hug. Derek noted the raise in heartbeat and how Stiles stiffened like a plank, muscles stiff. Lydia didn't remove herself, and eventually, Stiles sagged against her, shaking hands wrapping around her back and forehead dropping to her shoulder. Derek shoved down the swell of jealously and was instead thankful that Stiles was even there.

When Lydia detached herself, she grabbed Stiles by the hand and guided him to the sitting area. Stiles situated himself in the empty love seat, looking small as he curled in on himself against the mountain of pillows.

"What are we doing here?" Scott had asked, voice small and cracking. 

"We need to heal, and we should do it together. Allison wouldn't want us like this, she'd want us to carry on with life. We need to find some normalcy, so we're going to watch a movie together and eat some food like we used to."

No one had argued when Lydia put a Disney film on the TV and curled up on the couch beside Scott. After that day, things did improve. The pack began to heal, slowly but surely. The meetings and Friday movie nights became routine again. Everyone was beginning to fall back into place, sealing the cracks that had formed and repairing the damage done. It wasn't perfect, and it was never going to be. They had lost a large, vital and irreplaceable member of their pack and lives. It was never going to be the same, but that didn't mean they couldn't be happy and heal.

Derek doesn't know what urged him to go over to the Stilinski house hold a few weeks later, but he's bloody glad he went. He was barely a few feet away from the grass below Stiles' bedroom window when he heard the familiar sound of a faint sob. The sound, despite being quiet and muffled, sent Derek's wolf into overdrive and he was leaping up onto the window ledge and climbing inside before he could really think about it.

He was startled to find the bedroom empty. The first thing that hit him was the scent of misery and guilt, so strong and suffocating as it clung to every inch and object in the room. Derek could barely stop himself from whining, unable to understand why Stiles had to suffer through this alone.

The next soft cry snapped him out of his thoughts. He was following the sound before the next cry followed, leading him to the bathroom where he found the door wide open and Stiles sitting under the sink.

The teen hiccups when he looks up, tears streaming down his cheeks like small rivers and eyes puffy and red, swollen with misery.  He's curled in on himself, knees up his chest and trembling arms wrapped around himself as if he could make himself unseen.

Derek felt his heart literally break.

"Stiles," he whispered, approaching slowly and cautiously. When he was close enough, he crouched down almost at eye level with the shaking male that was no more than a child. Now he was closer, he could see the sharp lines of his prominent cheekbones, the colourless lips disgusting with the sickly pale skin. Underneath the blood-shot eyes were bruises of obvious exhaustion.

Derek wasn't expecting Stiles to launch himself into Derek's chest, but he reacted quickly, taking in the sobbing teen and wrapping his arms protectively around him. Stiles cried into his chest, wailed and trembled. His pain was pouring out, coming so unexpectedly that Derek cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. Not addressing the pain he had suspected Stiles was in, should have acted on instinct and the duty of a friend, because it was obvious Stiles needed a shoulder to cry on.

"You're okay," Derek murmured, rubbing a hand up and down the shaking knobs of his spine. "You're gonna be okay, Stiles. You're not alone, it's not your fault. Breath with me, calm down. Everyone's okay, everyone's fine."

Stiles choked a sob against his chest, hands wrung in his shirt, gripping tight and desperate. He sounded so fragile, so hurt and broken that Derek could barely blink back the tears in his own eyes. He'd never felt this sad and distraught since the fire, and the time before that when Paige was dying in his arms. But even then, it didn't hurt like this. This was worse, deeper like a never healing knife wound. This hurt more because it's been going on for weeks, Stiles has been crumbling and suffering alone because Derek was too weak and pathetic to act on his feelings and help Stiles.

Derek doesn't know how long he was sitting on the Stilinski bathroom floor, cradling and supporting his pack mate. But when Stiles finally found the breath to sit back, he looked worse than before. His eyelashes were clumped together, jet black with tears. His cheeks were wet and tinted red. Eyes sore and raw. He looked open and vulnerable, ruined and battered like a old toy that has been abandoned after years of careless play.

With a gentle touch, Derek brushed the pad of his thumb under one of Stiles' eyes, wiping away the falling tear. Stiles was staring back at him, whiskey orbs bright in the florescent bathroom lights.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles whispered, voice cracking and raspy.

Derek flashed him a small smile, hoping it would transfer some sort of comfort to the aching teen. "I came to see if you were okay," he replied, tone as gentle as the hand rubbing Stiles' shoulder with small circles. "You're not okay, are you?"

Stiles continued to stare at him with unblinking eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and Derek would bet his right arm he was going to lie 'I'm fine'. But then his mouth snapped closed, lip trembling and eyes filling with a fresh pool of tears. He shook his head, small and shakily.

Derek didn't hesitate to pull Stiles back into his chest, arms winding around his back for security. Stiles curled into his chest without protest, small sobs starting again. 

"It's okay. It's okay not to be okay," Derek whispered into the soft, messy mop of brown hair. "You'll heal, it'll get better and one day you can say you're fine and won't have to lie about it. But it's okay that today is not that day."

They moved into the bedroom sometime later, laying down on the bed. Derek wasn't planning on staying, but when Stiles grasped his wrist and looked at him with those big, hopeful and scared eyes, he didn't hesitate to kick off his shoes and climb under the covers next to him.

Stiles was the same as he had been at the pack meetings. He hadn't changed, good nor bad. He was still keep his distance from the pack. Still looking pale and sick, tired and wary, jumping at every sudden and small sound. It pained Derek to see him so uncomfortable in his own skin. 

Stiles was falling asleep next to him, breaths deep and soft, but Derek could see him resisting. In the dim light of the room, Stiles kept desperatly blinking his eyes open in the will to stay awake. Derek couldn't stand it any longer, looking at the exhausted face and sunken eyes in so much need for rest. He grabbed Stiles' hand, the skin cold against his own and small. Stiles' eyes met his, and Derek squeezed his hand gently.

"Go to sleep," he whispered into the silence. "I'll be here when you wake up."

The short reassurance seemed to calm Stiles somewhat. His tense body lost some of the stiffness and he relaxed slightly against the mattress, but not by much. He was still too wired to fall asleep, so Derek took charge. 

He moved closer, pulling Stiles into him gently. He kept their one hands connected, pressed between their chests and he wound the other one around Stiles' neck to hold his head, running his fingers gently through the soft strands of hair at the back of his head. The small, comforting gestures caused Stiles to drop like a hot rock into the abyss of sleep.

Derek followed soon after, rocking and comforted by the steady heartbeat and rhythmic breathing.

-

**5\. The melody of someone's voice.**

"What was it?"

"There's a lot of myths," Derek began, looking up from the locker room floor to Stiles, who was standing a few feet away. "About how people can be turned into a werewolf. Usually, it's a bite, and there's one about rain water."

"Rain water out of the puddle of a werewolf's print," Stiles said, nodding. 

"There's another one," Derek continued. "A way that someone can be turned by a scratch, if the claws go deep enough. I dreamed. . .I dreamed about Kate. She wasn't dead, she was alive, she was a were but I don't know which one. She didn't die when Peter killed her, she turned, and she was in my loft."

"Derek," Stiles sat down on the bench opposite him, looking at him with concern, "if this is all just a dream, then why do you look so worried?"

Derek shook his head in small movements. "Because I don't remember waking up. So. . .so tell me, how do you know? How do you know if you're still dreaming?"

"Fingers. In dreams you have extra fingers," Stiles replied. Derek didn't hesitate a moment before he snatched Stiles by the wrist and brought his hand up.

6 fingers.

Suddenly, the world folded like an envelope. Stiles was gone, as was the locker room. He was standing in his loft, smoke and darkness around him. His chest burned, fire and pain burning through him. He dropped to his knees, hands hovering over the sudden gun shot wound at the bottom of his chest.

He looked down at the blood stain. "It's real," he whispered to himself. 

Looking up, he saw a figure approach and appear in the white fog around him. 

"You're real,"

"That's right, Derek," Kate replied as she stalked forward, hips swaying and gun loose at her side in her fingers. "And if seeing me is a surprise, watch this,"

Suddenly, like a werewolf would, her face began to morph and shift. Only, she wasn't shifting into a wolf. Her eyes glowed green, teeth canines growing and skin turning blue with black smudges. She let out a roar, deep and loud.

_"Derek,"_

The voice that spoke didn't belong. It wasn't here, it was distance, like an echo. Derek barely heard it over the deafening roar.

_"Derek, wake up,"_

He couldn't pin point who it was or where they were. Black spots were dancing in his vision. His head felt cloudy, ears muffled. Kate was  _watching him_ , Kate was  _alive_  and he  _couldn't breath_. 

 _"Derek! Wake up!"_  The voice was more urgent, pleading.

His lungs stopped working. He was suffocating. He couldn't—

_"Wake up!"_

Derek snapped into consciousness with a breathless gasp. The first thing he saw was the ceiling, and then he was jackknifing into a sitting position. His skin was crawling, tingling and too tight. His hand went to his chest where the gaping hole was no longer there, where his t-shirt was no longer sticky with blood. His lungs were clenched, muscles tort and refusing to expand. His breath was short, neck cold with sweat.

"Derek?"

The small, unsure voice sent him into a spiral of confusion. His head snapped in the direction to see Stiles sitting up next to him, eyes wide and skin white pale in the moon light that glowed in from his bedroom window.

Derek tried to calm his breathing, to find some kind of steady pattern or rhythm, but he couldn't.

A hand grabbed his own, another one coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Derek," the voice was steadier this time, more stern and commanding. Stiles' eyes met his, the whiskey colour gleaming with a determination that had been missing for so long. "Breath with me. Hold you're breath."

It wasn't helping. This had never happened, in all of Derek's traumatic years, he'd never had a panic attack and he  _hated_  this. He couldn't breath and the lack of oxygen filling his lungs only made him panic more. It was a vicious circle, no way out, trapped and—

A pair of lips covered his. He was so startled and surprised he didn't even register the intake of breath he stopped. He sighed into the kiss, melting against the lips against his. Something warm and pleasant fluttered in his chest, replacing the recent panic and tight feeling. It was over as soon as it started and Stiles was pulling away.

Silence settled. Derek was speechless, awed and embarrassed. He'd panicked like that in front of Stiles, something that made him open and vulnerable - something he'd tried so hard to mask. His eyes were conflicted between looking at Stiles' lips or his eyes, both open and unreadable. Stiles was staring right back at him, his own breathing deep as if the kiss had surprised him as much as it had Derek.

The wolf couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed Stiles by the cheek and collided their lips together again. This one was better, longer, deeper. It was passionate, sweet and sour, like burnt sugar. It was captivating, sending tingles down Derek's spine. Stiles' lips moved with his, as if they had done this a million times. What surprised him most was Stiles was kissing back with as much if not more enthusiasm.

The next time they pulled away was because they were breathless. Derek took in Stiles' appearance with one look. He was still pale and he looked just as tired as he was hours ago before they fell asleep, but now his cheeks were tinted with a healthy red glow, eyes dilated and lips swollen and pink. 

"You like me?" Stiles whispered, breaking the silence that was only filled by their heavy breathing.

Derek smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Stiles smiled back, a small action that had been absent for too long and made Stiles look hypnotising-ly beautiful. "I like you too. I like you a lot."

"Good," Derek replied, pulling him in for another hungry and desperate kiss. "You're it for me, Stiles." He whispered against the teens lips. "You're everything."

They were healing, Derek decided. And now, they could heal together.

 

— fin. 

**Author's Note:**

> (sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Just point them out in the comments and I'll go back and edit them.)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated<3


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